


First Draft

by silver_moon_howler



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Donna Paulsen is a Badass, Lawyer Harvey Specter, M/M, Mike-Centric, Pining, Protective Harvey Specter, Slow Burn, Successful Mike Ross
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:16:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27131684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_moon_howler/pseuds/silver_moon_howler
Summary: Donna asks Peason & Hardman to represent her best friend-owner and CEO of a rising publishing company: Mike Ross.
Relationships: Mike Ross/Harvey Specter
Comments: 9
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike didn't plan on being a writer.

Much to the bafflement of his school librarian, Mike had finished everything. And His grandma could only take Mike to the local library every sunday, so that left a lot of downtime between the weekends. Mike still lurked in the school library during lunch, instead of reading he had taken up doing homework or playing chess with other kids, until they decided Mike brought an unfair advantage. 

"You know you could always come play basketball with me, I'll look out for you," Trevor promised Mike. Mike was walking home, with his backpack slung over his shoulder.  
"I..." he bit his tongue, "I perfer it..the quiet of the library." Trevor scoffed,  
"Whatever, you just don't want me to kick your ass in sports." Mike laughed at the joke, but didn't feel like he should. 

A week later, Mike had finished his homework for the day and was pacing through the library. His librarian, who had seen Mike repeat the cycle everyday since he had finished reading the entire library, sat Mike down and offered him a flyer.  
"What's this," Mike asked, holding the paper in front of him like it would some how reach out and grab him. The librarian smirked at Mike,  
"It's either this, or I put your photographic memory to work." 

'Stories!' The flier told Mike, presenting its title printed in bold on the top right corner.  
"You want me to enter a writing competition," Mike frowned, "I don't write.." The librarian shook her head, "I told you to write a book report about War and Peace when I didn't believe you had read it. You brought a fresh insight and vivid imagery that took me by surprise. If you can't write, I'll let you order the books for next months catalogue." Mike muttered something rude under his breath, snatched the flier from the librarian and scuttled to his chosen corner of the library to write in his notebook. 

_______

"There is nothing I can write about," Mike yelled into his arms. Trevor watched on, eating his lunch.  
"You know," he mumbled, "I don't think the writing contest is such a good idea for you." He brushed crumbs off his own homework, filled with answers he had gotten from Mike. "If you win, and you will, everyone's going to know what a nerd you are." Mike rubbed a hand over his face, "There's a cash prize. And I need the extra cash." Trevor scoffed, standing up to clear his food. "Get a job then, the only people who are going to take you seriously after you win this contest are teachers." Mike looked down at his notebook, he scrawled story ideas down. "Its fiction," he worried, "what kind of fiction?" Trevor shrugged, slinging his arm around Mike's shoulder, "Just do some bullshit Lord of the Rings rip off that talks about how bad greed is and they'll give you that prize." Mike shook his head, "I want to do better than that, I cab do better than that." 

After school, Mike snuck out the back ditching Trevor to go hang out with the basketball team. He found himself wandering to the city's modern mallscape. The crowd had herded Mike into a hidden away magazine store, the cashier a stoned man, sipping on a starbucks.  
"Excuse me, Sir?" The man didn't look up, "Can't come in with a backpack, kid?" He pointed at Mike's backpack. 

Mike dropped his backpack at the entrance, pocketing his wallet.  
"Sir, do you have any magazines about writing?" The man blinked slowly,  
"What'cha want a magazine for?" Mike shrugged, "it's for a school project, do you have one?" The man lifted his hand, oh so slowly and pointed at a shelf in the corner of the room with a stack of magazines titled, 'Writer's Digest.'  
"Knock yourself out kid." The man hesitated and then said, "We don't sell 18+ magazines until you're seventeen." His eyes flicked over Mike, "...unless you're willing to pay a twenty dollar extra fee." Mike shook his head, "Sorry, just want the writing magazine.." he ducked his eyes and sulked away from the counter. 

The magazine had the title, 'Creativity Burnout' printed for this month. Mike reached out and carefully slid out the magazine. He flicked through the pages, "Write what you know!" The magazine told Mike. Mike knew alot of things, it would be pretty hard for him to narrow it all down. The highlighted article was a woman in her forties talking about how anthropology helped her write a fantasy novel.  
"I think if any one is intelligent enough, they'll find a way to create a complex and vivid world that's unlike anything your readers are expecting. I met a biologist who wrote about societies linked with the ideology of health through experimentation and how that affected our cultures view on body. I met a musician who told stories like famous epics because they knew prose and meter. The question isn't can you write about it? It's how do you make others enjoy what you enjoy through your writing." 

At that moment Mike knew he wanted to write a fantasy novel. 

At that moment Trevor had decided to walk past the magazine wrack with a the basketball team.  
"Shit," Mike whispered, he ducked behind a cabinet and watched as they stalked off to the food court. 

"Hey kid," the cashier called, "are you going to buy or what?" Mike nodded, slipping the money out of his pocket, "Er, yeah, sorry." The man took the money had swiped a scanner of the magazines bar code. 

By morning Mike had read the whole thing cover to cover. He knew who published it, where from and who paid their checks. At that point Mike was furiously scratching out a story idea on one page and a settings idea in the other. By the lunch Trevor glared at Mike angrily as Mike flipped through a textbook on Literature, he had gotten from the Seniors English teacher.  
"Are you going to keep reading that crap?" He snapped at Mike, at that point Mike shot his friend a soft glare over the book. "Its just for the contest-"  
"You didn't even want to join that stupid contest," Trevor hissed, gripping his fork in a death grip. 

Mike poured his very soul into the notebook, feeling for a theme that he knew would convince the judges of his worth. War and Depression were always right at the top but every story Mike wrote felt too clinical. He color coded the pages on an index in his journal and went to the local library for literacy books on common themes in writing.  
"I like that one," his Grabdmother told Mike. She showing him Mike's most recent page, her finger stroking the corner of the notebook page. The teacher had just assigned To Kill a Mockingbird for the schools unit and Mike had been drawn in.  
"Where do we draw the line between our emotions and the cold apathetic weight of justice," Mike wrote on his book report. His teacher had called him up to congratulate Mike in front of the entire class and handed him a Snickers bar. Everyone in his class eyed Mike tensely. 

Mike had gone home and written a short story about a man who had been kidnapped and brainwashed into assassinating the mayor. The protagonist was a lawyer who had been hired to argue for the assassin's innocence. Mike walked through the story in the skin of another man, a better man with a whole family, his dream job and unbelievably wealthy.  
"Although," His Grandmother confided in Mike, "Sometimes people appreciate seeing a human side to the protagonist, something they can relate too." Mike nodded solemnly and rewrote the story to focus on the lawyer struggling with addiction while he rushed to save the life of an innocent man he was slowly losing belief in.  
"Too bleak," Mike muttered, he felt like sharing his story would be an admission of something to people he didn't want to confide in. Later that night, Mike snuck out of the house to a gas station where Trevor picked him up and they smoked weed behind a roller rink. Trevor listened to Mike's story patiently, when Mike finished his story Trevor opened his mouth, he closed it and then opened it again. A long, slow giggle escaped his lips.  
"Fuck Mike, I've seen that shit on TV dozens of times. I thought you'd have an original idea." Trevor slid his tongue slowly over his upper lip. "Wait-" he flicked the joint on the ground and chased after Mike who had taken off. 

_______

"How many times have you read a fantasy story set in medieval europe," the librarian drawled. She didn't bother looking up from her catalogue, pushing her glasses further up her nose.  
"One hundred and eighty-four times," Mike reported, "But-,"  
"The point is, everyone loves Harry Potter and call it the most original thing. But she got alot of her inspiration from authors like Tolkien. And authors like Tolkien got their inspiration from stories like Beowulf." She drummed her french tipped nails on her desk. "If you're going to stop making art because it's all been done before than clearly I misjudged you." She finally faced Mike, a fond smile on her face. "There is no one out there like you, which means the art you make won't look like anyone else's unless you try. Your characters will be different, your settings will be different, you are different." Mike fumbled with his notebook, "Would you read the story I wrote, Ms. James?" She hesitated,  
"Mike, I'm on the judge's panel I can't-" Mike shook his head, "This isn't the story. This is my story, I want you to tell me what you think. I won't turn it in, I just need you to tell me as an unbiased person, how good is it?" He slid his notebook over the table top, "please?" Ms. James nodded slowly, "Sure..I'll give it back to you after lunch break." Mike was beaming, "oh thank you." He skipped out of the library to go meet Trevor for lunch. 

"Did you lose your notebook," Trevor snapped. Mike had refused to go smoking with him for the third time that week. It wasn't Trevor's problem, he was more angry that Mike had quit hanging out with him as often, over some stupid note book. Mike was grinning,  
"The librarian is reading one of my stories." Mike patted his own cheek, his mouth burning from smiling so much. He was unpacking his sandwhich, fidgeting in his own skin when he noticed the sharp glare Trevor was receiving from the basketball team.  
"What's that all about?" He jabbed his thumb at the team. Trevor nibbled on his lips,  
"Basketball has a strict no drugs rules." Mike nodded, the was obvious information. Mile crumbled his sandwhich wrapper, "And?"  
"And apparently the players are really strict about it too." He scoffed, "Why do all my friends have to be shitty people?" Mike winced, reaching instinctively for his notebook. His hands failed to clasp the spine. 

"I'm terrified I'm going to get caught, Mike. There's no one to watch out for me." Mike nodded slowly, "I could..." he swallowed his sandwhich and it felt like cement, "I could hang out with you while you're smoking..." Trevor grinned, "Oh Mike, you don't have to do that for me?" Mike saw the smirk, he registered the behaviour as red flags, he had his mind halfway made up to just pick up his lunch and run to the library for safe haven. But then Trevor melted with relief and plastered his hand to Mike's. And Mike felt like crap for doubting his friend. "Sure I will, I owe you that?"  
'For what, what do I owe him?' his brain whispered but it couldn't be heard over the thoughts dashing around Mike's mind in strings of dialogue, tests answers and useless information. 

After lunch Ms. James gave Mike his notebook back with a folded flier showing a youth writers support group at six this Saturday. Later that afternoon Trevor passed Mike a note during home ec.  
"Meet me at ACE hardware on Saurday: six thirty." 

________

"Hey-hi! I was just calling about your youth writers meetings." Mike worried his lip, standing at the landline his Grandma owned, "I'm just curious..I saw a poster for your meeting this Saturday and I wanted to know if you're having other meetings?" Mike scratched his temple as he listened to the group leader rattle off further group dates and meetings.  
"That's great," Mike replied, "Yeah, thank you. That's all I needed to ask...yes I'm interested in attending a meeting soon...thank you. Yes, you too. Alright, Good bye." His Grandma shot Mike a strange look.  
"Why can't you go saturday?" Mike slid onto the couch, adjusting his shirt. "Trevor has to run some errands for his mom on saturday, asked for my help." His grandma clucked her tongue, "That man, surprised he even does chores for his mother." She sniffed, turning up the TV up higher. Mike watched Jepordy with her until six, and then a burst of inspiration set Mike into a frenzy of new writing material. His grandma listened, amused, as Mike sat at the table, the words flowing from his pen. Mike wrote about two friends at sea, who were at each others throats over the gull they had managed to kill. They were so hungry, so tired. Mike felt their pain vividly, he felt the shrewd chill of the unknown that came with their panic. He felt the hunger setting in their stomachs like wet cement. The friends argue about the gull until one attacks and lashes out, attacking his companion and killing him, isolated with the weight of what he had done, the man let's himself starve. 'Life is worse with out Trevor in it,' Mike reminded himself. The man from the story blinked up at Mike from the paper he had been placed in. His hands were red with blood. 

_________

On Friday Trevor canceled on Mike,  
"Met a dealer in the Bronx who's really into that artist I was telling you about that you didn't want to listen to. Wanted to talk with him, sorry. See you soon.' Mike nodded to himself, it made sense and it would always make sense but it still hurt. He didn't tell his grandmother, he didn't tell Ms. James. But during lunch, Ms. James handed Mike a slip about drug addiction and anonymous resources.  
"What the hell," Mike thought. He visited the public library and logged onto the anonymous website.  
'Hotlines for opioid addiction, nicotine or alcohol abuse. Resources for marijuana abuse. Outreach for rehab?' Mike clicked on the second option. 

'Weed is a gateway drug that-' Mike scrolled past the warnings. 'Write a journal about your progress and motivations. Try and work out why you've turned to cannabis?' Mike logged out of the website and walked up to the librarian.  
"Do you have any books on psychology?" He asked, ducking his head to avoid her gaze. The woman smiled softly, "100-199 or 300-399 depending on what you're looking for. But start in 100-199." Mike nodded, "Thank you." He wandered around the library until it was almost time for the Youth Writer's meeting. Mike waddled up to the librarian's desk, with his arm full of psychology books. The librarian smiled fondly,  
"School," she asked as she swiped the spine over it's magnet.  
"Personal interest," Mike replied, handing her his library card. The librarian nodded, pursing her lips in a smile. "The best kind of reading." She bagged the books for Mike and watched him hurry out the front door. One of the books went in detail about codependency and how that can relate to maladaptive coping mechanisms. What does a lousy text book even know, Mile thought spitefully as he drew the connection between his own life and the book's examples.  
_______

The Youth Writer's meeting was beyond fascinating. Ten other kids attended, they talked with each other with words Mike didn't understand like, world-building, rhetoric, prompts, hero's journey, trope.  
"We have a new addition," the chaperone beamed. She motioned for Mike to introduce himself. He stood up and waved,  
"Uh-hi, my name is Michael..Mike Ross. I've been writing for six months now." The chaperone nodded, smiling softly at Mike.  
"Today we'll be working with prompts. For fiction work." The chaperone smiled at Mike,  
"Would you like a partner?" Mike could see everyone in the room strain to avoid him. "I-,"  
"I'll take him," some said. The chaperone smiled, "Excellent Ms. Paulsen." The teacher turned around, shaking a woman's hand. The chaperone presented Mike to Ms. Paulsen. "This is our second chaperone, Donna Paulsen." Donna shook Mike's hand,  
"Its nice to meet you, Mike. I'll be walking you through anything you don't understand." 

Mike nodded slowly,  
"Could you explain what they mean by prompts?" Donna laughed softly,  
"Okay, so-" 

______

"You bailed on me again," Trevor raged. Mike walked right past him. 

_____

"Today you'll be partnering up with the person to your right. The prompt is friendships, I'd like for you to write from a second person point of view." Donna paired up the kids.  
"Jack Gardner, Mike Ross, you'll be working together." Jack hesitantly smiled. "You have...fifteen minutes." The chaperone tapped her watch. "Go!"

Mike picked up his pen and began to scribble. He was faster than anyone else in the room, hand flying over the paper and finishing his sentence with a flourish of his wrist. Jack watched in awe for a moment before he blinked slowly and began his own story. 

"Put your stories down..." the chaperone tapped on her watch, "Now!" Mike dropped his pen, jumping back. Jack chuckled, "you're really into writing, aren't you?" Mike flushed, "I'm sorry-",  
"It's super cool. Here let me see yours." They exchanged stories and began to read with the rest of the class. Mike watched Jack read his story out of the corner of his eye. Worry set in as Jack's face grew colder. He finished reading Mike's work and slipped it on the table. "You done," he asked. Mike nodded. 

They traded critique and compliments.  
"Your use of language is beyond me," Jack said, "I got a little lost for a second but I think you really supported the use of language because the context explains what you were trying to say." Mike grinned, the rest of the room had quieted to a dull hum. "I think your imagery is so vivid and I didn't realize you could use words like that." He pointed at Jack's paper, "I especially love this line when-" 

The group meeting wrapped up, Donna left early for class.  
"I'm taking additional classes in NYU to help me apply for a job at the DA." She had gone to Berkley to get a degree in law and economics and wanted to broaden her knowledge into criminal law. Mike was ecstatic and asked her a billion questions. 

A few kids had left with their parents which left a small string of teenagers waiting around. The chaperone got a call that seemed rather urgent and scurried back into the building.  
"Hey, Mike. We're going to walk to get burgers, want some?" Mike peered at his watch, "You know what, sure..but I have to go meet a friend after this." Jack trotted up to Mike, hooking their arms together, "I'm driving us there. Can you pay? 'Cause Eve and I are willing to buy you something." Mike stammered out an excuse but the group had already swept Mike into the car and headed toward the nearest restaurant. 

Mike doesn't go to Trevor's. He forgets why, somewhere between leaving the diner and driving home, Mike had tried to tell Jack, Trevor's address but Michelle had begun asking Mike about his thoughts on using popular tropes and then next thing Mike knew he was rattling off his home address instead of Trevor's. The group watched Mike walk to his front door, disappearing behind the door. 

"Did you make any friends?" His grandma had asked. Mike nodded, swallowing the tea his grandma had made for him. It calmed the craving under Mike's skin.  
"Today," Mike said to ground himself, "I met Jack, he's into descriptive writing and romantic comedies. He introduced me to Eve-she likes writing horror and sci-fi and writes like it's satire. After that we went to dinner with their friends, Michelle and Martin, who are collaborating on a fantasy novel together." Like me, Mike wanted to add. 

His grandma smiled, gushing about Mike's new friends, his good friends. After that she never said Trevor's name again. Only referring to Trevor as, HIM. After telling his grandma about his day, Mike went to his room and poured over his fantasy novel. The frame work of another reality was burned into his mind. Tomorrow Mike would be exchanging the psychology text books for architecture and anthropology textbooks. Tonight he wrote about a man who struggled to separate the reality of fantasy he had created in his own mind, versus a real world. To add his own original twist, Mike molded reality into an ambiguous fantasy world that could be mistake for fiction.

'Marijuana,' one of the textbooks read, 'when taken before the age of eighteen can lead to a disorder called marijuana use disorder. People who quit using marijuana can experience withdrawal symptoms.'

Mike opened seperate journal and began to write down his experience. Withdrawal, it made perfect sense to Mike as he wrote about the change in his sleep, the dip in his mood. His chronic pain that felt like thousands of tiny worms wriggling under his skin. The sensation grew louder as Mike wrote.  
"Fuck," Mike hissed. He stripped down and took a cool shower, followed by a hot shower. Finally Mike gave in, there were far more powerful men who had been subdued by the symptoms, why would Mike even try? He slipped out of the house to the closest gas station. 

"Hey, Mike," the cashier said.  
"Hey, man, you seen Trevor recently?" Trevor lived a couple streets over and would sometimes loiter in the gas station while high. The cashier nodded, "just left, said he was going to the park." Mike bought a bag of chips and ran. The street of New York were burned into his mind. He knew where he was going and how he should get there. Within minutes Mike had caught up to Trevor who was parked under the brdige with a few guys in their health class.  
"Mike!" Trevor kept to his feet and pulled Mike into a hug, "you skipped put on me earlier. What's the deal?" Mike sniffed, "thought I'd get clean?" Trevor's grin could cut ice, "How'd that work out for you, Einstein?" Mike hing his head in shame, the feeling in his skin was almost unbearable. "Fuck, Trevor just give me something to smoke." 

_____  
"How've you been doing," Ms. James asked Mike. He shrugged shifting restlessly in his seat,  
"I must admit my head hasn't been clear recently." He had stopped writing for the past week and felt listless. Ms. James frowned, "Have you been doing better?" Mike shrugged again, jerking his whole body, "I tried to get rid of it, unhealthy habits are hard to break but they kept drawing me in." Ms. James reached over and grabbed Mike's hand, "You can ask me for help anytime Mike, you know that right?" Mike shrugged off her hand and stomped out of the room to talk to Trevor. 

"Mike," Trevor snapped, "where have you been?" He turned to his friend, "he does this thing where he promises to meet me and runs off." Mike nods, rubbing the deep circles under his eyes. 

Trevir offered to drop Mike off that night, he complained about his school life, complained about home. Cursed his parents for being around and the school for giving him bad grades when they caught him cheating.  
"Maybe you should have made the answers more unique for me," Trevor joked, tapping his finger on steering wheel. Mike Mike counciled Trevor through every little problem he had, he encouraged Trevor to go after the girl he liked, he took Trevor's Parent's side in the argument until Trevor took his hands off the wheel and accused Mike of not carrying about him enough.  
"You're not even listening to me," he shouted, his hands pinning Mike to the car door. Mike screamed, tears prickling in his eyes. Every memory of that night hgt with his parents came rolling back in. Hot and heady as it rolled like marbles down his throat. "You're taking my parents side, I thought we were friends!" Mike shook his head, begging for Trevor to slow down.  
"We are friends!" Trevor pressed his foot on the gas pedal, "Say it, admit it! Admit I'm right!" Mike nodded,  
"Okay! Okay, you're right, I'm sorry. I for-forgot but you are right. You're always right, now cab you please step on the breaks, please!" Trevor pulled an empty parking lot to drive in donuts. The end of the car felt like it was sliding out from under Mike. And Trevor was laughing. He was curled over his stomach, clutching his sides. 

Trevor slammed his foot on the breaks, he watched Mike's face contort in terror with amusement.  
"Shit, Mikey, it was a joke. I'm sorry." Mike didn't open his mouth to speak, he didn't bother looking at Trevor. He just undid his seatbelts and hopped out of the car, running faster than he ever had in his life. 

When Mike came to stop he realized he wasn't in his neighborhood.  
"NYU?" Mike kicked at the ground, cursing Trevor under his breath. Mike's body seemed to have decided that now was the time to cut off Michael's supply of adrenaline. Before Mike could rationalize the feeling, time caught up to Mike and dropped metric tons on his shoulders. Mike scrambled for the nearest trash can, emptying his stomach of his lunch.  
"Mike?" Donna was dressed for school, holding a umbrella over her head. Mike squinted, "Is that an umbrella," he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, "It's not even-" thunder clapped in the sky and rain poured in sheets down New York's streets. 

"Great," Mike muttered, "Just great."  
"You look like shit," Donna commented, "does this have to do with that thing your friends were telling me about?" Mike cocked his head, "what things?" Donna tsked, "it doesn't matter now I suppose. What're you doing here?" Mike looked up at the black sky looking for anything he could do, anything he could say. A single thread was all Mike had left to hold himself together, to keep him from snapping.  
"My friend got mad at me and dumped me here." Donna took pity on Mike, shivering in the blistering cold and offered Mike her second umbrella-she had had a feeling it would be needed today. Mike took the umbrella and shivered.  
"Thank you," he held back tears, "god, thank you so much. You're litterally the best person ever." Donna smiled fondly, "That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me kid, let's go get you warmed up." She walked Mike to her car, when she took out her keys to unlock the front door Mike shit down all together, his eyes glazing over. 

Donna kneeled in front of Mike, shaking his shoulders and shouting his name until he came to.  
"Mike, what happened, do you want me to call someone?" Donna slid a BlackBerry out of her pocket, ready to dial 911. Mike pulled the umbrella closer to his body with a shiver, "I don't want to get in the car...is that alright?" Donna frowned,  
"Of course, Mike, here," she took Mike by the hand and marched him into the closest starbucks.  
"Two chai lattes," Donnna requested, tossing money on the counter. 

And they sat there, in that starbucks, with Mike curled on the table. and Donna running a hand through his hair, humming to herself. Finally Mike sat up,  
"I'm going to head back home."  
"How're you going to do that without a car," Donna asked, she was scrolling through recent job offers. "I'm taking the subway," Mike handed Donna her umbrella back. "Thank you so much, I'm so sorry you had to deal with me like that, I-"  
"Mike, Mike," Donna caught Mike's frantic hands, "I will forgive you, if you promise this won't happen again." The quiet of the cafe had dulled in Mike's ears, replaced with the clicking of the worms burrowing in his skin.  
"I promise you won't find me outside of NYU again." 

"No," Donna chided, "That wasn't what I meant, Mike. I meant, can you promise me, you won't end up like this again because of...that boy." Mike bit his tongue, "I'm sorry, Donna...I can't promise that." Donna nodded sloely, "okay, I'm glad..I'm glad you're honest. I'm just a little upset someone I care about got hurt like this." She smiled patiently, "You understand, right?" Mike finished the rest of his latte, "I'm sorry, Donna."  
"Wait," Donna handed Mike her card, "call me in case of emergencies." Mike frowned but pocketed the card. He tossed his cup out, leaving Donna alone in the middle of a starbucks. 

_______

"I was this close to calling the police," his grandmother lectured, "it was HIM again, wasn't it?" Mike dipped his head in shame, "I'm sorry, Grandma, it won't happen again." He felt terrible about lying to her. 

He had come home at one AM soaking wet and sniveling. His grandmother had not been happy. 

_____

"Hey, Mikey, I'm sorry about yesterday." Mike faced his body away, hunched over his homework, doodling in the corner.  
"I was wondering, I totally don't deserve this, but I forgot my essay. Could I borrow yours?" Mike looked up, fixing Trevor with a murderous stare. Trevor had never seen Mike so angry in his life. "No, no, Mikey, listen to me. You can afford it if your grad drops a bit. But my mom said she'd take away my car if I dropped to a D." Trevor smirked, "Come on, you owe me for running out in me yesterday." For a second Mike was worried Trevor might cut him off, might exchange Mike's attention for drugs. And then Trevor looked at Mike with the same desperation he always had, and Mike knew he was too terrified to even think about cutting off his last means of contact with Mike. 

So Mike stood up and switched seats. Later that afternoon he met with Trevor in central park to smoke with some guys from the tennis team. They offered Mike the opportunity to try harder drugs but Mike was already terrified of touching weed more than necessary. 

_____

Mike fell asleep during a meeting. The chaperone had left Donna in charge and had taken half the kids to a separate room for another activity. Mike watched as the room was filled with the people he trusted the most. Eve, Jack, Michelle, Martin and Donna all began to focus on anthropomorphism in western literature when a soft snore came from Mike's corner of the room. 

Eve tutted,  
"Probably that dick friend of his," she turned to Jack, "has he talked to you?" Donna shift uncomfortably,  
"Guys, I have to tell you something and it can only stay in this room." Everyone looked up. "The other night I had gotten off my classes and Mike was standing in the middle of the parking lot with a panic attack. Said his friend had abandoned him in the parking lot but it seemed worse than that, I thought the kid had died he was so pale." Michelle cocked her head,  
"He said his friend was responsible?" Donna nodded,  
"You guys think something wrong with his friend, I know you said he was having trouble with someone but, I thought it was a bully or something." Michelle shook her head, "the assignment we had to do when we first hung out, was write about friendship." She pointed at Jack, "he read Mike's story." 

Jack cleared his throat,  
"It was messed up, it was kind of like a good bye letter but he was walking through the instructions of getting rid of a friend and being horrible person because of it. But the friend was clearly a bad person, he was threatening the narrator, gaslighting him and hurting him." Donna nodded,  
"We needed to find out who this little rat is before, Mike gets hurt." 

Mike woke up before it was time to leave. Donna offered to drive Mike home and Eva offered Mike a free lunch with her and michelle at a jack in the box.  
"Sorry guys," Mike told them, "My grandma implemented a curfew." He tucked his notebook away and walked to the subway. 

________

"You're making great progress," Ms. James commented. "You've found words you can relate to. I'm just worried." Mike was halfway asleep in his chair, his tired eyes flitted up to Ms. James eyes. "What's that?"  
"Mike, these topics are really heavy, and the themes are getting worse. It's my job to make sure you're all right." Mike froze,  
"I'm fine!" He collected his notebook and stormed out the door. He had written a story only that morning and it had been a rushed job that was just venting stifled emotions. Mike had failed to write anything. He felt completely useless.  
________

Trevor called for Mike after school. Mike told Trevor to fuck off and go away. Trevor asked Mike to hang out with him like old times. Mike said no. Trevor offered to smoke with Mike. Mike said yes.


	2. Make me cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike's friends pitch together to help him.

Mike had known Trevor so long that there was no shred of his identity that didn't rely on Trevor entirely...except writing. May e that's why it pissed Trevor off so much. He didn't like seeing Mike excel at something Trevor had no stake in.   
"This is Trevor. I can't pick up the phone right now...call me back later." 

....

"Trevor cut the shit. I know you're not doing anything right now, call me back." 

Mike rubbed his face slowly, closing his eyes tightly. The stench of human filth stuck to his skin, Mike was wrapped in clothes he had worn since three weeks ago, his hair was slicked down with grease and sweat. Anyone who walked in would see a shell of a human being, sick with pestilence that dripped out of his very pores. Edith only came in at night now to offer Mike a dinner that Mike would barely pick through, she watched in horror as Mike shivered violently, scratched at his skin. 

The night air felt hot against his skin, sweat dripped down his pale flesh, the sensation burning him like a brand. His notebook had been left untouched for months, the twitch of inspiration in his fingers had left him. Mike could only find it himself to leave at Trevor's call. 

The night grew taller, the shadows extended further on Mike's shivering body. His phone rang, suddenly in the dark. He picked up the phone at the caller ID,   
"Hello," Mike rolled the entire word off his tongue, pronouncing each syllable. He waited for the other to speak, "...Trevor?"   
"M..Mike~" Trevor slurred on each word, speaking from the roof of his mouth.   
"What the fuck, Trevor, I haven't even heard from you in-," Trevor scoffed,   
"Hey, Mike, listen buddy. Before you say anything you regret, you should come over here. I met this guy, let's us smoke in his house, has a ton of food..." Mike rolled his bottom lip through his teeth, "I..." 

Not a word from in months and he chose to call when he was stoned out of his mind and offering an opportunity to wreck himself up further. Trevor was crazy if he thought that Mike had even an inkling of a thought associated with Trevor at all.

Those were all the things Mike should've said. He should've hung up the phone the moment he heard how stoned Trevor was.   
"Send me the address," Mike mumbled into the reciever, combing a hand through his greasy hair. 

No one commented about the state Mike was in. They frowned slightly as if examining Mike and moved on to the next thought. Trevor barely blinked, closing his hand around Mike's skinny wrist.   
"I want you to meet this guy, most reliable dealer. Says he was an opportunity for me to win more." Mike stared ahead blankly, nodding slowly as if he was unable to move his limbs further. 

Mike wandered through the room without thinking. He smoked, ate, drank something he really shouldn't have and passed out in the back of Trevor's car. He woke up at Trevor's house.   
"Dude," Trevor flicked his ear. Mike nodded awake, jumping up from the cot Trevor had laid for him on the floor. "Mom says you've got to leave." He flashed an irritated glare over his shoulder where a woman's voice came from. "Says she doesn't want you in the house anymore." Mike squinted through the raging hangover he had, "Why?" 

Trevor chuckled, sipping from a coke,   
"I dragged you into my house stoned out of your mind, had to tell my mom something. She thinks you called me and I saves you from a bad spot. I don't know how much she believes me so try and convince her for me please." 

Mike barely had time to collect his things before he was kicked out of the house by Trevor's mother with a few curt insinuations that made Mike pale. 

This would happen again another eight times before Donna stepped in. Brilliant, Brilliant Donna with her perfect coffee. 

________

"This has got to be the most disgusting mess I've ever seen." Donna waltzed into Mike's room with little room for debate. The door just banged open and Donna dropped her purse on the floor. Peering over her fashionable sunglasses that probably cost more than Mike's wardrobe. 

"This can't go on any further," she strutted over to Mike's bed and looked him in the eyes. Mike could only blink listlessly, throwing his forearm over his face.   
"Donna," he blinked slowly, feigning jumping up in surprise. She cocked an eyebrow, frowning deeply.   
"Cut the shit, Ross. Where have you been, everyone's worried sick about you." 

Mike shrugged, pulling the sheets of his blanket closer wishing he was somewhere else.   
"I'm just a little sick, I'll be back when I feel better." At least he cared enough to try and offer an explanation, a pretty ridiculous one but still plausible. 

Donna, ever knowing, all powerful or all knowing, ever powerful, leveled Mike with a glare that could seduce the most callous of men and women.   
"Get up," she pulled Mike upright and handed him a coffee.   
"Where we going," Mike asked. Donna pulled Mike out of bed, shoving him into the bathroom. 

"If you're not dressed by the time I've finished the rest of my coffee, I'm taking you there naked." She frowned when Mike didn't make a quip back. 

______

"This is the most you've eaten in a week isn't," Donna watched Mike wolf down half a pizza in one sitting. The empty carbs already made Mike feel a thousand times better. The next stop was a boutique Mike had never heard of, they took one look at Mike and told Donna in no short terms. Although she was a very well paying customer, they don't accept anyone properly bathed. 

So Donna switched gears, escorting Mike to a very high end Spa that basted Mike in a steam room, runned him down with every herb rub known to man and properly groomed him to look like a cover model.   
"How do you feel," Donna asked. She was concerned by the lack of scintillating conversation on Mike's part, not like she'd show the kid. Mike peeled back the seaweed, cucumber whatever cleanse that they had salved into his skin.  
"I'm feeling...better, I guess." He breathed deeply, "I..no, I still feel like shit. Donna. I'm so lost." He felt so lost, like his skin was so tight. When he breathed her name it felt like a call for help. Donna tutted softly,   
“We’re going to get through this kid,” she patted him softly on the back. 

The boutique warmly welcomed Donna back, the manager began to converse in fluid french with a delighted Donna. Several attendants had disappeared in the back, only to emerge with towering stacks of boxes containing clothes that cost more than Mike’s house.   
“We’re only looking for something casual,” Donna drawled. The attendants nodded, reaching for a stack of name brand pants. Mike watched himself change slowly, the pale in his skin was flushed out with good food and a shower. His stained sweats were promptly thrown out much to Mike’s dismay. Whatever Donna asked for she got, which meant Mike had never been treated so nicely by an establishment in his life.   
“You look nice in the grey shirt,” she flicked her hand and the swarm of attendants rushed to wrap Mike into an entirely new outfit. Mike peered at the khakis he had been dressed in,   
“How can you afford all this?” Mike asked, his face flush with embarrassment. 

Donna chewed on the tip of his thumb, analyzing Mike further.   
“I’ve gained a few favors over the course of my time in college.” She grinned, “That’s how I was able to get a job for the DA so quickly, he said if I stay with the company long enough he’ll give me to one of his co-workers, PA’s get paid alot.” Mike nodded dreamily, “That’s great...listen, Gram’s probably really worried..”   
“I called her ahead of time,” Donna waved him off, “She knows that I’ve got you for the day.” Mike shifted on the balls of his feet, “So..what else are we doing today?” Donna blinked, “You still haven’t talked to any of your friends in the past few weeks. I’m taking you to a meeting and we’ll see if we can get you back into the swing of writing.” Mike yelped, slapping away an assistant’s hand, “You can’t do that. I don’t want to go.”   
“You signed a contract,” Donna hummed, tapping into her phone, “You said you’d go today.” Mike stepped off the tailor’s stand, “I never signed-” Donna held up a neat contract, flipping it around for Mike to see the cramped signature exactly like Mike’s in the corner of the page. 

“You signed, see?” Mike spluttered,   
“I never signed that!” Donna shrugged, stuffing the contract back into her purse. One of the assistants rushed forward handing her a flute of champagne with a nervous smile. 

______________________

Donna had managed to coax Mike into a meeting at a restaurant in Soho. Mike had been sat at a picnic table and instructed not to leave, while Donna talked to the owner. Mike picked his muffin glumly, popping crumbs into his mouth.  
“Mike!” Jack popped from around the corner, clutching a gift bag. “God, Mike, it’s been forever, we were all super worried about you.” Mike hid behind his water glass, drumming his fingers nervously on the table top. The colors of the neighborhood were so loud, each little town seemed so insincere, they promised the best but Mike could only see the worst.   
“Yeah,” he said, noticing for the first time how raspy he sounded, “I’m sorry, I haven’t been feeling well for the past few days.” Jack took his seat,   
“No, yeah. It’s fine, we’ve all just been a little worried about you.” He pulled out his phone, “What’s your number, Eve’s been insisting I get for a while now. Haven’t seen you until today, yeah?” Mike nodded, rattling a number off the top of his head. 

Jack punched in the digits, snapping his phone shut.   
“Eve should be here soon, she forgot to pick up a present for you, so she’s stopping by a store.” Mike shook his head, “No, I don’t-”   
“Jack!” Donna waltzed into the room, smiling brightly, “It’s so good to see you again, I was worried you’d be caught up in the traffic.” Jack shrugged, “I left early, but Eve will be a little late-” from inside the cafe a clump of servers, brought out large dishes and placed them on the table. Donna clapped her hands, “Ricardo never ceases to amaze me.” She grinned offering her thanks to one of the servers. Cakes, breads, soups, coffees and salads were all spread out on the table-top.   
“Three course,” Donna explained, “The fact that I’m going below a four course meal here is practically barbaric, but if you guys are going to become famous authors you need to know the nuances of being well connected.” She placed a saucer full of bisque in front of Mike. “And there’s no one better than me at being well connected.” Jack sighed, sipping the turkish coffee presented to him. “Donna you are a goddess.” Donna paused in surprise, but slowly a smug smile slipped onto her features.   
“Yes I am, now you guys have to try these beet cakes.” 

Eve arrived after the second course. She talked about her book with Mike, who hadn’t realized how much he actually missed talking about writing with someone who enjoyed it.   
“I’m trying poetry now,” she enthused, “Really looking forward to learning more on the subject, I’m taking a poetry unit in my school and I’m talking to a visiting poet later at a meeting. She blogs about her experience and it’s fascinating to hear about the divide between male poets and female poets.” Mike shrugged, “Don’t think I have the voice for poetry, I’m not really into imagery or metaphors.” Eve shrugged, “It’s good practice, especially if you want to expand on your current tone.” Jack cut in to inform everyone about the scholarship he had gotten for NYU for volunteering hours. “I’m also applying for a diversity scholarship, they want more people of color artists to attend so they’re looking for anyone who’s entered competitions or published. I’m collecting some of my short stories together to publish into an anthology so that I’ll be pushed ahead in the list.” Donna clasped her hands, “Oh, Jack that’s amazing. You’ll love NYU, they’re so nice there.”   
“Speaking of college,” Eve continued, “The writing competition, you haven’t been working on it. They’re offering scholarships, you need all the extra help you can get, Mike.” Mike ducked his head, scratching his cheek, “I...I’m almost done, I haven’t had any inspiration lately.” Eve nodded slowly,   
“Well if you need any help getting back into the game, be sure to call us.” She patted Mike’s hand, “We’re here for you.” 

The table then grew silent. Mike blinked, looking about for the cause, he opened his mouth to speak when Donna cleared her throat.   
“Mike..we need to talk to you about something.” The thrum of the other patrons was dull, sluggish now.   
“Uhm..” Mike chewed on his lips, “Erm, yeah..go ahead?” Jack pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket, one Mike recognized. “That’s mine,” he pointed at the sheet of paper titled Friends on the top. Jack nodded, “I proofed it in class remember, you turned it in but Donna got it back for me.” Mike set his jaw, “What’s going on?” Donna bristled uncomfortably,   
“You remember that night we had coffee for the first time, right Mike?” Mike connected the dots in his head, “Is that’s what this is about, you think I’m some abused basket-case with a shitty friend.” 

Donna licked her lips,   
“In the prompt you said, “I’m sorry for all the times I made you mad, and it seems like so many times now, I’m beginning to worry that you’re too good for me.” Doesn’t that line sound a little..icky?” Mke rolled his eyes, “If that’s your strongest evidence, you’re going to have to try harder because I’ve heard Rom-coms say worse than that.” Jack set his jaw, “Mike, you said and I quote, “Maybe I deserve you silent treatment, maybe I deserve how often you leave me for someone else. But I can’t leave you, I don’t know if I could be a better person without you. Everytime we talk I start to think that maybe I don’t matter without you, like you said.” Jack closed the letter, “Does your friend want you to be successful in life?”   
“Of course he does,” Mike snapped, “Trevor has always been there for me through everything..he’s just been a little distant recently but it’s highschool, we’re supposed to do stupid things.”   
“Like what,” Donna asked patiently, “What’re you doing that’s so reckless?” Mike paused, his eyes rolled back as if in thought, “...Sometimes existing is just so..hard, I feel like I can’t breath, like my head has been stuffed with cotton and I just want it to stop-I don’t feel like that when I get high, I feel...untethered. He helps me get..high, I don’t know..It doesn’t make any sense and i’m sorry, I’ve read psychology books, I know the name for the conditions that I have but I just-I can’t ask for help, I don’t know why.” No one answered. Donna hesitated until she rested her hand on Mike's.   
"We're going to help you in anyway." 

The next course came and Jack got started talking about the soft-ware he found that helped him write a manuscript. Donna politely asked the right questions for someone who didn't know much about writing and stayed connected in the conversation when it took an obscure turn.   
"First person perspective outside of fiction and biographies are childish," Eve tacted.  
"Historical perspective from a first person narrative are an unappreciated art that are often fueled by beginners with a lack of imagination," Jack replied. 

Donna sipped from her glass, a proud smile on her face.   
"So how did you get into writing," Mike asked her.   
"Oh, I didn't," Donna folded her hands together, "Tutoring your writing group was an offer from my professor as extra credit." She smiled at the small friend group she had scraped together, "There was just the added benefit of meeting you guys." Eve cooed, clasping her friends hands into her own. Mike felt like progress was being made today-he didn't know if tomorrow he'd go back to the way he was or climb back to someone he'd be proud of but Mike knew he was going to do his best to be there for his friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and kodus!


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